Gotham Saints
by horus42
Summary: The rise of the so called "super villains" and the seeming inability of the police and Batman to keep them off the streets drives The Saints to action in Gotham. Full of gratuitous swearing and violence.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, The Boondock Saints, or any of DC or Troy Duffy's other property. Just the story is mine.

March 15, 2010. 10:14 p.m. Gotham City.

Commissioner Gordon gripped his revolver reflexively. He was nervous, but he couldn't let it show. He was a leader, dammit. He drew a deep sigh before turning to the SWAT team captain and nodding. "This is it." He thought. "Gotham P.D.'s time to shine. We're going to catch one of these mob bastards without Batman's help." The SWAT team moved out, ready to strike the headquarters of Oswald Cobblepot, a mob boss often referred to as "The Penguin" due to his short, fat build and preference for Tuxedoes.

O'Neill, an older Irish cop, opened the door quickly and quietly. Gordon stayed behind to coordinate the effort. After a few minutes, Gordon radioed the SWAT team. "What's taking so long? We need to nail this guy!"

The only response he received was "Sir, you'd better come take a look at this…" Gordon mumbled to himself, swearing under his breath. "What is it that's so important? No one home?"

"No sir. They're… They're all already dead."

"Dammit! I told you to take the Penguin alive! Oh well… Just means I've got a ton of paperwork."

"That's not what I meant, sir. They were dead when we got here."

"What?"

"Like I said, sir. You should really come take a look at this."

Gordon acknowledged and headed inside the building. He found the SWAT team soon and was shocked by what he saw. The gangsters had all been killed, several hours previous, by the looks of it. Each of them shot with the precision of an expert marksman, with a penny placed on each of their eyes. Cobblepot himself was the most shocking, however. Double-tap to the back of the head, exit wounds at the eyes. He was laid out as if for a funeral, with pennies on the bloody sockets where his eyes used to be.

"Fuck me…" Whispered Gordon. "This is the same M.O. as those guys from Boston. The ones who escaped from prison last year. You don't think…" He trailed off, lost in thought. He knew one thing, however. The Saints had come to Gotham.

"I think Gotham's got a new set of vigilantes." Said a gravelly voice from the shadows. Gordon turned, completely unsurprised to see The Batman emerging into view. "It's got to be them." He said. "This is how they operated in Boston, and I don't think they're going to stop after just one." Batman examined the scene while he spoke. ""They broke my one rule, Gordon."

"No killing. Right. But what are we supposed to do? These guys are untouchable."

"Just leave them to me. I have to prove, once and for all, that you can't just murder people at wonton. This ends here, in Gotham."

"Right, but this needs to be a police effort. No offense, but it'd be hypocritical of me to let a vigilante take down another vigilante."

Batman just grunted and turned back to the crime scene. After a few more minutes, he said, "Ok. Here's what happened…"


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, The Boondock Saints, or any of DC or Troy Duffy's other property. Just the story is mine.

March 15, 2010. 7:21 p.m. Gotham City.

Connor and Murphy MacManus were about to kill someone for the first time in two years. After their vigilante antics had gotten their Dad and two of their friends killed, they resolved to lay down their guns after they escaped from prison. But the events in Gotham could not be ignored. The rise of the so-called "super villains" in recent years and the seeming inability of both the police and Batman to keep them off the streets for more than a few weeks at a time drove The Saints to act once more

They had dressed themselves in black, as usual, and were preparing to enter through the roof. Murphy laughed a little. "Just like old times, eh? You even brought back that stupid fuckin' rope."

"Shut the fuck up, Murph. Don't you remember how many times this "stupid fuckin' rope" has saved our lives?"

"Nah. That's just skill and luck. The fuckin' rope's got nothin' to do with it."

"Oh, well isn't that right, Rambo?" Connor chuckled to himself. "You ready?"

Murphy nodded, and the MacManus twins dropped silently through an open sunroof. They crept along, quickly yet quietly, keeping close to the walls in the darkness. They each drew their paired, silenced Desert Eagles as they neared the door. Connor pulled on his ski mask, and Murph followed suit. He drew in a heavy breath as Connor kicked down the door.

The Saints moved nearly in unison, as if they shared a brain between the two of them. The short, clipped bark of silenced shots rang out as one by one; the Penguin's minions were gunned down. Most of them died before they could even reach their guns, and those who managed to draw were killed before they could fire a single shot. The Penguin himself ran into the next room during the confusion, but The Saints knew where he had gone.

Connor was first into the next room, and saw the Penguin standing in shock, with an umbrella in hand. "Who the fuck are you?" He asked. "Who are you working for?"

Murph looked at him, calmly, and said "We are the vengeful hammer of God."

"And that's all you need to know." Finished Connor.

With a skeptical look on his face, the Penguin brought the umbrella to bear. The Saints just laughed. "Oh, look at this," said Murph. "What're you gonna do?" Before Murph could get in what was clearly going to be a very witty and sarcastic retort, he was cut off by the Penguin firing the gun he had hidden in his umbrella. The bullet grazed Murph's left arm, and Connor fired a shot into the Penguin's leg in response.

"You alright?"

"I'm fuckin' fine." Said Murph, through the pain. "Let's just finish this."

"Right." Replied Connor, before turning to the Penguin and saying, "On your fucking knees!" Obviously frightened, the Penguin complied. He was whispering something incoherent as both Saints placed the barrels of their guns on the back of his head and began to perform their Last Rites.

In unison, they prayed, "And shepherds we shall be, for Thee My Lord, for Thee. Power has descended forth from Thy Hand, that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy Command. And we shall flow a river forth to Thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In Nomine Patris, et Fili, et Spiritus Sancti." As they said Amen, twin shots rang out, and the Penguin was no more.

The Saints made The Sign of The Cross and turned the Penguin's corpse on its side. They crossed his arms over his chest, and placed a penny over each eye. They repeated this for each of the men they had killed, and sprayed ammonia on Murph's blood from the shot to his arm. Murph turned to Connor as they left the building and said, "Well, that was fun."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, The Boondock Saints, or any of DC or Troy Duffy's other property. Just the story is mine.

Author's note: In here is a little something that diverges from The Dark Knight a bit. Harvey Dent is not dead, although the public believes it to be true.

March 15, 2010. 10:34 p.m. Gotham City.

Commissioner Gordon frowned. "I guess that's a pretty sound theory. But where would they go next?"

Batman turned to him and said, "I don't know. I don't think like a homicidal psychopath." A realization seemed to dawn on him. "As much as I hate to ask it, Gordon, I need to talk to him."

"Who?" Asked Gordon. "The Joker?"

Batman scowled. "He wouldn't help. He'd think The Saints are too much fun to be put away."

"Then who?" Asked Gordon, with a look on his face that said what he was truly thinking. (Which was, "Not in front of the others!")

"You know who I mean. I'll meet you at Arkham in an hour." With that, he stepped back, and vanished into the shadows.

March 15, 2010. 11:42 p.m. Arkham Asylum

As Gordon was admitted through the security checkpoint, he heard that distinctive, disguised voice again. "You're late."

"Well I have to keep up appearances, don't I? You do remember that our "official" policy is to arrest you on sight, right?"

Batman sighed. "I'm well aware. Now take me to Harvey."

"Shhh! Not so loud. It was your idea to let people think he's dead instead of a crazed killer. Don't go ruining it now."

"Just take me to him."

As they walked into the part of the Asylum that held the more dangerous inmates, Gordon said, "Seems like you're slipping, Bats. If you can't keep a secret like Harvey, how long until people find out who you really are?"

"Never. Besides, I only mentioned him by name here. The staff at Arkham already knows about him, so what's to worry about?"

"Eavesdroppers? Seriously, when did you get so lax?"

"I'm just determined to stop these Saints at any cost. What they did to The Penguin could tip the balance, you know. He might have been despicable, but he didn't rule through fear or violence. Now that he's gone…"

"Another mob boss could make a power grab…"

"Plunging the entire city into anarchy." Finished Batman.

A maniacal laugh rang through the halls. "Did somebody say _anarchy_?"

"Shut the fuck up, Joker!" Shouted Gordon. "We're not here for you."

"No, I didn't expect you would be. I never get any visitors here, except for Dr. Quinzel. Nice lady, really. Fascinated by me…" He broke into laughter again as Batman and Gordon walked towards Harvey "Two-Face" Dent's cell.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, the Boondock Saints, or any of DC or Troy Duffy's other property. Just the story is mine.

March 16, 2010. 12:02 a.m. Arkham Asylum

Commissioner Gordon banged loudly on the cell door. "Wake up, Dent. You've got a visitor."

A groggy voice was heard from inside. "Really? Finally telling the public the truth, then?" Harvey got to his feet and looked through the slit in the door. "Oh. It's you." A look of disappointment and hatred twisted his scarred face.

"I know you don't like me, Harvey," said Batman, "but there's something going on that could tear Gotham apart. We need to put our differences aside to save the city we both love."

"Oh, so we can work together to save the _city_ we love but not the _woman_ I love? What makes you think I would want to help you?"

"It's The Saints, Harvey. They're in Gotham, and they're killing again."

"Good. Hell, if I wasn't locked up here, I'd probably be out there helping them."

"You don't mean that." Said Batman. "You're a good person, Harvey."

"Good, evil… Just artificial labels slapped on by a skewed sense of morality. I just do what's fair. Give people what they deserve."

"And who are you to decide?" Snapped Gordon.

"I let fate decide. Besides, we've had this conversation before, Gordon. Both of you, just leave me be. I'm not going to help you think like them. I'd rather rot here then let you stop The Saints from finishing what I started."

Batman's eyes narrowed, and he turned and walked away. Gordon followed after. "Are we just going to leave like this, then?"

"Harvey made up his mind. He won't talk without some "persuasion". I'll come back tomorrow night, and I'll have everything ready."

Gordon turned to look at someone standing in front of The Joker's cell. "Get away from there, miss. Visiting hours are over."

She responded with a New Jersey accent. "Oh, I'm not a visitor, Commissioner. I'm a doctor here." She indicated her nametag, which read, "Dr. Harleen Quinzel."

"Fair enough, then." When he turned back, Batman was already gone. He went on his way, leaving Dr. Quinzel alone. She turned back to The Joker and said, "You sure this is a good idea?"

He laughed a little, and said, "Ideas… Plans… Those are for schemers. I'm just rolling with an opportunity that fell into my lap." His tongue flicked on the edge of his scarred smile.

She nodded, and pulled out her cell phone. "You sure it's the right number?"

"No. But is anyone ever really sure of anything?"

She just shrugged, and dialed the number that he had told her. A sleepy voice with an Irish accent answered. "Hello?"

"Mr. MacManus? I have something to tell you about Harvey Dent."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, the Boondock Saints, or any of DC or Troy Duffy's other property. Just the story is mine.

March 16, 2010. 12:05 a.m. Gotham City.

Connor was woken up by the phone ringing. He stumbled in the dark for a few moments, then answered with a groggy, "Hello?"

"Mr. MacManus?" Said the voice on the other line, a woman with a New Jersey accent. "I have something to tell you about Harvey Dent."

Connor was shocked. No one knew where they were staying, and who was this mystery woman? And what was so important about a dead man that she needed to call right now? He shook off the shock, and put on his best American accent. "I don't know who you're talking about, miss. I think you have the wrong number."

"Sticking to the story even though you know I know you're lying. You must be Connor, the sensible one."

He was really freaked out now, and knew that this woman, whoever she was, wouldn't back down. He began using his real voice again, "Listen lady, I don't know who the fuck you are, or how the fuck you know this number. Why don't you give me some fuckin' answers before we talk?"

"I'm just a friend, trying to give you some advice. That's all you need to know for now."

"I don't like the sound of this. But what's it you've got to tell me that's so important about a man who's been dead for years?"

"Well, for starters, he's not dead."

"Uh-huh. So you're just a fuckin' lunatic, then? He was killed by The Joker when he blew up those two buildings a few years back. Right before the ferry incident."

"Not quite. Half of his face was burned off, but he lived."

"Then where the fuck is he?"

"They're keeping him in Arkham. Y'know those mob deaths they blamed on the Batman? Those were Harvey. He went kinda crazy after the explosion." Before Connor could respond, she said, "And hey, even if I'm lying, what harm could it do you to look and see? And if I'm telling the truth, then you might just get someone to help you out." She hung up.

Connor frowned. On one hand, he and Murph could use some help. Neither of them was very familiar with Gotham, and having someone who knew the city would be a huge asset. However, the whole thing seemed like an almost too obvious trap. How could he know whether or not this mystery woman was leading him, and his brother, right to the police? Arkham is a hotbed of police activity, and neither of them would ever kill innocents just to get an edge, or ever at all. If they went to Arkham, they would need to be stealthier than they'd ever been. They would need to get in, get Dent, and get out, without anyone noticing they had ever been there. "Easier said than done." He thought.

He considered the idea for quite a while, weighing each pro and con in depth before coming to his decision. "Murph." He said.

Murph simply rolled over and started snoring.

"Murph! Wake up you fuckin' lazy bastard!"

Murph woke up after that. "What the fuck, Connor? It's the middle of the fuckin' night."

"Get ready Murph. We're going to Arkham Asylum."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, the Boondock Saints, or any of DC or Troy Duffy's other property. Just the story is mine.

March 16, 2010. 8:13 a.m. Arkham Asylum.

Commissioner Gordon was in a bad mood. He had been at Arkham just a few hours before the violence had occurred. He hoped to God that they just hadn't found Dent's body yet. He didn't even want to think what the repercussions of Two-Face's escape would be. As he walked the deserted, bloody halls, he couldn't help but notice the pennies on the eyes of each corpse. As he examined teh4 scene, the wheels started turning in his head, and he started to piece together what had happened.

March 16, 2010. 2:48 a.m. Arkham Asylum.

Connor and Murphy had so far managed to sneak into the asylum. They kept to the shadows, but they knew that they couldn't stay hidden that way for much longer. And so they waited. It didn't take long before a doctor walked past, and Murphy pistol-whipped him in the back of the head. The doctor fell, unconscious, as Connor whispered harshly, "What the fuck was that for, Murph?"

"We need disguises. Figured I'd just take the doc's labcoat and pretend to be him for a while."

"I don't think that'll work in real life, you fuckin' idiot."

"Sure it will. It's almost three in the fuckin' morning. No one's going to pay any attention because they're too damn tired." Said Murph as he slipped on the doctor's coat and hid the man's unconscious form.

"Well, now all we have to do is wait until another doctor comes through, which could take fuckin' hours, Murph! We don't have time for this."

"Don't worry. I've got a plan."

"More terrifying words have never been spoken."

Murph slapped his brother upside the head. "All we have to do is act like I'm escorting a fuckin' inmate back to his cell. No one will pay attention this late, and we can go get Dent."

"I guess it could work, but you're making a lot of fuckin' assumptions, Murph. We just need to…" Connor was cut off by a voice headed in their direction.

"Hello? Who's down here?"

"Way to go, Murph. Now we're fucked."

Murphy stowed his pistol, and said, "Just stick to the plan." An old man came through the door, clearly another doctor. Murph put on an American accent, and said, "Sorry about that, doctor. Just taking one of the patients back to his room."

"Oh. Carry on, then." The old man turned around and began to leave. He stopped before he got to the door, "Wait a minute. I don't recognize you. Or your patient…" He wasn't able to finish his thought before Murph caught him with a wicked uppercut to the jaw.

"What the fuck, Murph?! How is that "sticking to the plan"?"

"I panicked, alright?"

"There are tons of ways you could have handled that better. "It's my first day" or "I don't usually work this shift" would have worked much better than a punch to the fuckin' jaw!"

"It doesn't fuckin' matter now. Let's just move on."

Connor grudgingly agreed, and The Saints went together into the next hallway. As they walked, they made sure to keep their faces inconspicuously hidden. It seemed to work, since no one stopped them. Although, they didn't run across any guards, and most of the inmates probably just didn't care, so they had no way of knowing how well it really worked.

After several minutes of searching, they found a cell marked "H. Dent." Connor looked through the slit in the door, and sure enough, he saw the scarred face of Harvey "Two-Face" Dent. He knocked softly. "Dent? Wake up." After a pause, "Wake the fuck up!"

Two-Face stirred, and rose to his feet. "Who's out there? Gordon? Batman?"

"No. Just a couple of Saints here to ask you a few questions." Said Murph.

Recognition dawned on his face. "Please, ask away. I'm something of a fan of your work. I heard what you did to The Penguin."

"It's what we plan to do to the rest of Gotham's filth." Said Connor. "But we'll need your help."

"Ask me anything. Just, for the love of God, get me out of this cell…"

Connor turned to Murph and started speaking to him in Russian. "Do you think we can trust him?"

Murph shrugged, and replied in Russian. "Desperate men do desperate things. But I do think we can trust him." Murph turned to Two-Face and said, in English, "I took the keys from the doc whose labcoat this is. Hopefully we've got the right one." After a few minutes of trying, Murph found the right key, and Two-Face was free.

"Now that we're here," said Two-Face, "We can go ahead and take out some of the scum that's already here."

"Who've you got in mind?" asked Connor.

"Scarecrow. And The Joker."

"Big names." Said Murph. "I say we go for it."

"You'll be doing Gotham a favor."

Before either of The Saints could answer, a shout was heard from down the hall. Several security guards were running towards them, guns drawn. "Just stay cool, Murph. Let the fuckers get close." Neither The Saints nor Two-Face made a threatening move, and waited for the guards to get close. Once they arrived, they had put their guns away, no longer expecting a fight. "Just please, put Mr. Dent back in his cell, and we can settle this peacefully."

Connor and Murph nodded at each other, and with a blur of motion, they knocked two of the guards to the ground. They took down the other two with well placed kicks, and after disarming them, they tossed the guards into Two-Face's cell. As soon as they did that, however, another guard rounded the corner. Before he could react, a shot rang out, and the guard fell to the ground, bleeding profusely. The Saints turned to see Two-Face with a smoking gun he had taken from one of the other guards. "Come on! We don't have time to waste!"

The Saints said a brief prayer for the dead guard, and placed pennies on his eyes. Two-Face led them to Scarecrow's cell, where The Saints performed their Last Rites and executed him on the spot. They did the same for him, as Two-Face held off the guards. With heavy hearts, The Saints prayed for each of the dead, and became increasingly worried about their decision.

After a few more minutes, they reached The Joker's cell. He looked at them, horrified. "No. No, no, no. This is all wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen…"

"On your fuckin' knees!" Shouted Murph.

"You were just supposed to keep those mafia dogs busy… Let them take their war to the streets… Introduce chaos so that I could escape!"

"On your fuckin' knees! We won't repeat ourselves again." Said Connor.

Resigned, The Joker got on his knees. As The Saints placed the barrels of their guns against the back of his head, he said, "Can I at least have some last words?"

"Fine. But you better fuckin' make it quick."

"I should have known better than to have a plan."

The Saints said their family prayer for the final time of that night, and pulled their triggers.

Author's Note: I'm sure that some of you will find the fact that I killed off The Joker to be either a) Distasteful because Heath Ledger is dead, or b) Disappointing, because you wanted him to play a bigger role. My answer to you is simple: The reason I killed off The Joker this early in the story is because I don't feel like I could do the character justice. I took the easy way out, instead of subjugating you to my awful rendition of an awesome character.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, the Boondock Saints, or any of DC or Troy Duffy's other property. Just the story is mine.

March 16, 2010. 6:22 p.m. Just outside of Gotham

A man whom no one recognized was speaking to the group. "Assembled mob bosses, esteemed super villains, I'm sure you're all well aware by now of the problems we face." This mystery man had contacted them all via letter, telling them to meet him in a location he only alluded to with cryptic riddles, identifying himself with nothing more than a question mark. He wore a green suit, with a bowler hat, and a purple tie bearing the same question mark he used in the letters.

Before anyone could interrupt, he began again. "Now, I'm sure all of you are thinking, 'who is this man?' Well, to answer your questions, I call myself "The Riddler"."

One of the people he had assembled, a huge man with the Russian Mafia, frowned while saying, "That tells us nothing. How did you know where to find us? What do you want?"

"All I want is a challenge," said The Riddler, an excited look on his face. "I've been planning this for quite a while, really: to turn away from my mundane, monotonous life, and become something more. To carve out a niche as a super villain. But now, I have a feeling that The Saints would ruin that. Sure, it adds another element of challenge, but I don't want guaranteed death for a failure. The Batman is who I really want to pit myself against, which is why I've brought you all here."

"What? You want us to lure Batman to you so you can fight him?" Asked one of the super villains. A woman, who took the word "catburglar" far too literally.

"No, no, my dear Catwoman. I want you all to kill The Saints."

"This is an outrage!" Said another of the villains. Mr. Freeze, a psychopath who used liquid nitrogen for his murders. "You want _us_ to risk our lives to kill The Saints while you just sit back and play your head games with The Batman?"

A rousing chorus of "Fuck that," followed. However, a small voice from the back of the room squeaked out a simple, "I'll do it."

Everyone but The Riddler seemed shocked. "Who is this bitch?" asked one of the mob thugs. Another murmured "She really thinks she can take on The Saints?"

The Riddler sat down between the two thugs and said, "Anger can be a powerful motivator, my friends. And after what The Saints did to Dr. Quinzel's beloved "Mr. J." earlier this morning, I have no doubt that she's ready to end them."

Several people shouted. Most of them said something along the lines of "What?" or "Who?"

After the ruckus died down, one of the mob bosses said, "I don't know this "Mr. J" you're talking about, but I do know that The Saints haven't offed anyone since The Penguin. Don't you think it would've been in the news?"

The Riddler smiled. "Normally, yes. Unless news coverage would reveal one of Gotham P.D.'s most well kept and darkest secrets…" He paused, letting the tension build. As he watched them lean closer, practically begging him to finish, he thought to himself, "Oh yes. I have the villain monologue down to an art. Let's not keep them waiting too much longer…"

"This morning, at approximately 2 a.m., The Saints broke into Arkham Asylum. While there, they assaulted two doctors and four guards, and they killed several more guards, and two inmates. However, it's the inmate they set free that's the secret. That's where the cover-up comes into play."

"But who?" demanded Mr. Freeze.

"Of the three, one had a fitting name, the other ironic. And the third is a man we all thought dead."

One of the mob bosses pinched the bridge of his nose. "We all understand that you're trying to be cute with this whole "riddles" gimmick, but cut to the fucking chase! Who'd they kill, and who's on the loose?"

Dr. Quinzel spoke up, "They killed Scarecrow," she paused, looking like she was trying not to break into tears, "and Mr. J. The Joker…" An audible gasp went throughout the crowd. "And the one they set free is… is…" She lost her composure, too deeply hurt by The Joker's death.

The Riddler sighed, and picked up where she had left off. "The man they set free is Harvey Dent."

A worried silence fell upon the room.


End file.
